


The Highly Secret Society of the Merlyn Magicians Dedicated to the Resurrection and Reinstatement of Arthur Pendragon, King of the Britons

by Fictionista654



Category: Merlin (TV)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-05
Updated: 2019-07-05
Packaged: 2020-06-09 20:55:02
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,096
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19483849
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Fictionista654/pseuds/Fictionista654
Summary: Merlin tries out for a secret society dedicated to Arthur's resurrection. The society is not impressed with Merlin's shenanigans.





	The Highly Secret Society of the Merlyn Magicians Dedicated to the Resurrection and Reinstatement of Arthur Pendragon, King of the Britons

“Don’t be afraid,” the shorter man said. “Once you show them what you can do, you’ll be a definite in.”

The taller man leaned forward in his chair, mouth serious but laughter dancing in his sharp blue eyes. “There are so many important people in that room,” he said. “What if I have performance anxiety?”

“Performance anxiety,” repeated the shorter man, who had thinning russet hair and a fat cigar dangling from his thin lips. 

“Yeah,” said the taller man, who had thick black hair and no cigar. “Is there some sort of”—here he lowered his voice and darted his eyes from side to side—“Viagra for magic I could use?”

“Viagra for magic,” said the shorter man, looking distinctly worried now. “You want Viagra for magic? You told me yesterday that you could do a spell no problem.”

“No, no. Don’t worry, George. I’m sure it’ll be all right.” The taller man scooped a handful of peanuts from the crystal bowl on the table.

“You do one spell, and that’s all they need. You’d be in.” George’s voice had taken on a pleading tone. “I didn’t want to say anything, but my membership’s coming up for review in the new year, and if I’ve sponsored a dud…” his voice trailed off meaningfully. “And there’s the issue of your name.”

“What’s wrong with my name?”

“You can’t be called Merlin,” George snapped. “It’s the name of the bloody society.” 

“And where in the rules does it say there can’t be any members named Merlin?” 

“It’s understood!” said George, unwrapping his third energy bar of the day. “It would be blasphemous.” 

“But Merlin wasn’t a god.” 

“Look,” said George. “Think of it this way. You wouldn’t go around calling yourself The Savior of Magic. And that’s what the name Merlin means now. It doesn’t matter that he never existed—”

“Excuse me?” said Merlin. “You’re saying that Merlin, the sorcerer Merlin, never existed?”

“Totally fictional,” George agreed. “A 10th century addition.” 

“Okay,” said Merlin. “I guess my question is, why would anyone make him up?”

“The Dark Ages was a bad time for magic,” George said tragically. “Any magician not burned at stake was in hiding. But, you see, it’s actually much more powerful that Merlin never existed because, you know, it’s all the power of ideas and things like that. It’s remarkable, really. Quite remarkable.” 

Merlin looked skeptical. “Is that the consensus here? That Merlin never existed?”

“My dear man!” George said. “Of course it is! If you go in there blathering about how you want to be just like the great Merlin himself, you’ll be laughed out of the room. You do want to be an official magician, don’t you? No more of that hedge-witch nonsense?”

“I don’t think of hedge-witchery as nonsense,” Merlin said coldly, “but then again, I am not yet a member of The Highly Secret Society of Merlyn Magicians Dedicated to the Resurrection and Reinstatement of Arthur Pendragon, King of the Britons.” 

“We just call it The Society,” said George. 

“Of course.”

There was a polite silence as George chewed his snack.

“Anyway,” said George, tucking the wrapper into his suit jacket pocket, “You’ll be all right, kid. Just follow my lead.” A door opened at the end of the hallway, and a dark-haired woman stuck out her head. 

“George? We’re ready for you.” 

“Thanks Linda!” George wiped his hands on his pants and nodded to Merlin. “It is time, my friend.”

Beyond the door at the other side of the library was a small oak-paneled conference room. The people seated conference table were mostly white, mostly men, and Merlin nodded when he saw them, as if confirming something he already knew. 

“Hi everyone,” said George, standing awkwardly next to Merlin at the head of the room. “This is Merlin. He’s a hedge-witch.” 

“Oof,” said Linda. “His magic’s rough, then?”

“Very,” said George. “But, you know, with the rate of magic-users declining, and the omens, and that false Arthur sighting in Wales, you know, it’s just a good time to bring in new blood. An infusion, of sorts.”

“Hi,” said Merlin, offering a two-fingered wave. George visibly deflated.

“Do you know who I am?” said the man at the head of the table. He had no hair and almost no facial hair, including no eyelashes and eyebrows. What he did have was one enormous, curly, maroon mustache. It was a very impressive sight. 

Merlin smiled sheepishly. “I’m sorry, Sir Patrick. I do know who you are. I won’t salute again. Would you prefer a handshake?”

“No I would not!” said Sir Patrick, his sniff ruffling that impressive mustache. “Now tell me, Merlin—” He spat the name with mild disgust. “—do you know what’s going to happen now?”

“I’m going to do a spell for you,” said Merlin. “If it’s good enough magic, you let me in. If it’s not, you wipe my memory of this encounter and send me on my way.”

“Hmm.” The head magician gave him a searching look. Merlin gave him one right back. “This is Eliza Kaur. She has the ability to rate the strength of your magic on a scale form 1-10.”

“Really?” Merlin said interestedly. “You mean she can’t do it on any other scale? Like 1-8, for example? Or half-units. Can you do half units, Eliza?”

Eliza, who happened to be the magician seated closest to Merlin, began to laugh, but stopped at the expression on Sir Patrick’s face. “Would you like a different scale, then?”

“No, no,” said Merlin. “I was just curious. You know how it is.”

“Begin when ready,” said Sir Patrick. Merlin nodded and held his hands out in front of him. 

The magicians waited. Nothing happened. George chewed his fingers. At last, Sir Patrick snorted. “Just as I suspected. Another talentless charlatan. Linda, if you would be so kind as to wipe this young man’s memory—”

Merlin dropped his hands. “It’s done.”

“It’s done?” said Sir Patrick, aghast at Merlin’s audacity. “But you didn’t even do anything!”

“Eliza?”

Eliza put down her pad of paper and stared at Merlin. “That was…I don’t know what that was. He definitely accessed magic, but I couldn’t feel the spell.”

George looked like he didn’t know whether to be pleased or annoyed. This was certainly a mixed bag for him. 

“Why don’t you do a spell?” said one of the older members of the club in a quavery voice. “You ought to do a spell! This is not proper, not proper at all.”

“Show them what you showed me,” George offered. 

“And what did he show you?” said Sir Patrick. “It had better be powerful indeed for you to bring this insolent child into our fold.”

“Oh, it was,” Merlin assured him. “But I already did a spell.”

“You did not,” squawked the turtley old man. “You absolutely did not.”

“And he calls himself Merlin, too,” someone said.

“The impudence!”

“Tell us what spell you just did,” demanded Linda.

Merlin’s eyes crinkled as he smiled. “I added five minutes to each of your lives.”

“Damn it,” said Sir Patrick, “we will not tolerate this any longer. You are making a mockery out of The Society of Merlyn Magicians Dedicated to the Resurrection and Reinstatement of Arthur Pendragon, King of the Britons.”

“I’m sorry,” Merlin said, his countenance growing grave. “It was wrong of me to do a spell that couldn’t be proven. I see that now. Will you accept my apology?”

Sir Patrick glared suspiciously at Merlin, but he couldn’t find a single facial twitch that suggest Merlin was joking. “Just don’t do it again,” he said grumpily. “You have one more chance.”

“One more chance, one more chance,” Merlin murmured to himself, rubbing his hands together. “All right. Watch very, very carefully.” The magicians all leaned forward. For a few eternal ticks of the clock, Merlin did nothing. When he did move, it was almost too quick to see.

“Here you go,” Merlin said, presenting the coin to Eliza. “I don’t know how you heard anything with this in your ear.”

Eliza giggled behind her hand and took the coin from Merlin. “You didn’t use any magic that time,” she said reproachfully. “That wasn’t very nice of you.” 

“But it was fun,” said Merlin cheerfully. “Should I do some fun magic instead?”

“ _Fun_ magic?” spluttered Sir Patrick. “ _Fun_ magic? It’s a serious discipline. The magician carries the weight of the world on his shoulders.”

“Mm,” Merlin said, chewing on the inside of his lower lip as thought. “Hedge-witches have fun.”

“Hedge-witches are uneducated, unrefined, unlearned people who blunder about, messing with things they can’t understand,” said Sir Patrick with disgust. “I’d rather be a ghoul.”

“I hear what you’re saying,” said Merlin, and made a show of pulling himself together. “One last spell, right?”

“One last spell,” Sir Patrick said. “It’s too bad you aren’t actually your namesake, because I doubt you have any ability at all.”

“But Eliza said I did,” said Merlin. “Though she didn’t scale it, which was a little disappointing. I’d started really looking forward to getting my number. But we mustn’t get caught up on the little things. I’ll just start now, yeah?” 

This time, Merlin sank to the floor and pressed his palms against the shiny wooden floor. Below his hands, the floor began to warp. Sir Patrick and a few other members stood half out of their chairs.

“He’s going to ruin the flooring,” said the only magician actually wearing a pointy hat. “I donated the money for that flooring!”

“I command you to stop, hedge-witch,” yelled Sir Patrick. Merlin didn’t stop, and, in fact, the warped part of the floor grew larger and larger, ballooning into a strange bulge. His hands as graceful as a dancer’s, Merlin reached into the middle of the bulge and stretched part of it vertically, so a tower stuck out from the main mass. Then he pushed with hands against the air, and all the magicians shuddered at the sudden shockwave of magic. When it was over, there was, on the donated flooring, a sword in a stone.

“What do you think you’re doing?” said Sir Patrick. “This is quite enough disrespect. Linda, his memory, if you please.”

Linda reached out a hand, then drew it back like she’d been burned. “I can’t,” she said. “He won’t let me.” Eliza’s eyes narrowed, and her head whipped from Linda to Merlin. Merlin winked.

“He won’t let—he’s nothing but a hedge-witch!” said Sir Patrick, hauling himself into a standing position. “See here, you can’t do something like that. You just can’t. I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again. It’s a mockery, a jape.”

Merlin ignored Sir Patrick and ran his finger over the stone, leaving glowing letters behind. “Whoso pulleth this sword from this stone is the rightwise guardian of all England,” Eliza read.

“Merlin, do you really think that’s wise,” asked George, fumbling with his collar. “You’re mocking the future king of England.”

“Guardian,” Merlin corrected. “I expect the prat will still make people call him _king_ , but I thought _guardian_ was a more appropriate title at this time.”

“You can’t demote King Arthur!” said a magician in a white sweater set. 

“YOU CAN’T DO THIS,” Sir Patrick roared, striking his fist on the table.

“I believe I can,” said Merlin. “Now, I suggest advertising the stone on the internet. If I know Arthur, he’ll think this is a good laugh. He’ll probably come round with some mates. Expect a few pretenders first, though.”

“I can do the advertising,” said Eliza, jotting something down. 

“Thank you, Eliza,” said Merlin. “I’ve never gotten the hang of computers, I’m afraid. I suspect it’s harder at my age.” All at once, his face drooped and folded, and his back cracked and turned stooped. A cane materialized in one hand. His bright blue eyes shone from beneath droopy eyelids, and his cheeks wrinkled like thin paper. "I'll be off, now. Remember: Facebook!" He disappeared, but popped back before anyone could say anything. “One last thing. It really doesn’t offend me if you name a baby _Merlin_. It’s fun to have people named after you. Makes you feel important.” He disappeared again. 

“The power he just used,” said Eliza. “That was off the charts.”

Sir Patrick went paler than plaster, and he stared in horror at the place Merlin had been. “That wasn’t…that couldn’t have…” He rounded on George. “You bloody idiot! You didn’t recognize Merlin himself!”

“I’m sorry,” said Sir George. “Does this mean my membership isn’t being renewed?”


End file.
